


Better Creatures

by DetectiveJoan



Category: Fablehaven Series - Brandon Mull
Genre: Amnesia, Captivity, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Dark Magic, Dark fic, Evil Power Couple, Extremely Dubious Consent, Gaslighting, Kidnapping, M/M, Major Power-Up, Murder, Pining, Psychological Grooming, Sexual Assault, Sibling Incest, Wet Dream, also secretly a fic about ADHD don't @ me on that, post Wrath of the Dragon King
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 13:24:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17101397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DetectiveJoan/pseuds/DetectiveJoan
Summary: “Ronodin will bleed you dry,” Bracken tells him. “He'll use you up until you run out of power, and then he'll toss you aside. You know that.”“Guess I'd better not run out of power,” Seth replies easily.





	Better Creatures

**Author's Note:**

> **Mind the tags, friends.**
> 
>  
> 
> _You are solar flares_  
>  _and soft lips -_  
>  _[better creatures](http://detectivejoan.tumblr.com/search/better-creatures) could love you, I know._  
>  _But now they’ll have to_  
>  _get through_  
>  _me._

Seth doesn’t remember owing the Singing Sisters a favor, so he’s disinclined to respond when he receives their summons. Ronodin argues it’s better to stay on witches’ good sides, especially ones as renowned and powerful as these.

“Besides, they know more than you do,” he says. “I’m sure they’ve found a favor to ask that you’ll find mutually beneficial.”

They want the Sphinx’s head.

Seth’s not sure it’s as beneficial as Ronodin predicted, but they make a convincing argument about an enchanted dagger they’ll send after him if he can’t provide. He agrees.

It should be difficult to get the drop on a man who’s survived more than 500 years, but a shadow charmer’s best power is secrecy. Seth knows who the Sphinx is, which gives him a sporting chance at taking him down. More importantly, the Sphinx keeps confusing Seth for the boy he used to be, brim full of qualms and morality, and that makes him _vulnerable._

The Sphinx doesn’t see the knife coming until Seth’s buried it in his neck. He draws it across his throat for good measure, and then drops his body to the ground and watches as the blood spurts out of the wound with each of his last heartbeats.

“Impressive,” Ronodin admires from the corner of the room. Seth locks eyes with him.

His whole body feels overwarm and tensed for a fight that didn’t happen. He can feel the chill that always radiates off Ronodin. What would he do if Seth reached in and took some of that coldness for himself? Would he give him the fight? Or something else Seth knows he can’t ask for?

He looks away. Down.

The body is still. There’s blood squishing in his sneakers.

“Thanks,” he says. “Got any tips for getting the head off?”

 

Seth requests combat training, so Ronodin teaches him how to build a dullion for a sparring partner and hands him a sword.

“I don’t get a shield?” Seth asks, testing the weight of the weapon.

“You’re a shadow charmer,” Ronodin says. “The darkness is your greatest protection. And if you’re close enough for a shield to be necessary, you’re close enough to talk your way out of a fight you won’t win.”

It’s not that the man has a distaste for violence, Seth has found, it’s simply that he prefers not to perpetrate it himself. He doesn’t like being in the line of fire.

Seth has a taste for it—and, it turns out, he has some muscle memory for the basics of swordplay.

He’s glad for a repairable partner when he gouges a chunk of the dullion’s flesh out with his blade, but when they switch to hand-to-hand he wishes he had something with a pulse to pin down.

 

That night Seth dreams about Ronodin slamming him against the ground, sucking bruises into his skin, biting sharply at his hip bones, dragging claw marks down his sides. He bursts into conscious the next morning with a tightness in his stomach and a hunger in his fingers.

 

There’s something in the dungeon that pulses warmth as much as Ronodin does coldness.

“A unicorn and an annoyance,” Ronodin explains when Seth asks. “Bracken. He can’t be killed unless we have his first horn.”

“Where is it?”

Seth can get it for him, he’s sure.

Ronodin tilts his head consideringly. “Your Kendra has it.”

The determiner rankles. Ronodin softly sets his hand on Seth’s, weighing him down.

“You always needed to learn more patience,” he tells him. “We’ll get it eventually. But right now your training is the priority.”

 

Seth has nearly a year’s worth of memories when Ronodin tell him they’re going to the dragon sanctuary in China. It’s still standing by the time they reach the border, and Ronodin doesn’t have any tricks to get them inside while the treaty’s in effect.

They wait.

“What are we doing here?” Seth asks on their third night, spinning the heat from their campfire in restless circles. “You don’t even like dragons.”

“I like things that change,” Ronodin says, “and right now that’s the sanctuaries. But we’re primarily here because there’s a couple of Knights in there that I would prefer didn’t make it out.”

Seth frowns. “If they survive a fallen sanctuary, they deserve to live.”

“No one deserves to live, Seth. And even if they did, what people deserve and what they get are very different things.”

The treaty breaks at sunrise. The air seems to shimmer along the border, which stretches as far as Seth can see in either direction, and then there’s a roar like rolling thunder and he feels the protections shatter. Newly freed dragons swarm the sky. Ronodin smiles.

They survive the next two days by the skin of their teeth and the quickness of Seth’s sword, and then they catch their prey in a clearing.

They’re a man and a woman, both in their mid-twenties and both looking the worse for wear.

“Seth? What are you doing here?” the man asks, as bewildered as Seth has ever heard a person sound. He has a thick beard, and a three long, angry wounds running across his neck like he’d been raked by a dragon’s claws recently.

Seth already has his dagger drawn. He readjusts his grip. The woman watches him do it. There’s a huge blood stain down the front of her shirt, but Seth can’t tell if it’s hers or not. Her curly hair has been burned short on one side, and one of her arms is tied to her chest in a makeshift sling.

“Warren,” she says, warning in her accented voice.

He puts a hand out towards her calmly, palm flat. Maybe it’s to hold her back, maybe it’s just to indicate that he’s aware of her concern. He doesn’t take his eyes off Seth.

“Where’s Kendra?” the man—Warren—asks. “Has something happened at Fablehaven?”

Seth’s not sure if Ronodin expects him to respond. He glances over for guidance and Ronodin nods him forward.

It’s enough warning that Warren manages to catch Seth’s wrist when he lunges, and then twist it until he drops the dagger. Warren lets go and backs up defensively, drawing his own knife.

“I don’t know what’s going on, Seth, but I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, voice perfectly level.

Seth draws his sword and slices through the tendons in Warren’s wrist in one fluid movement, and then plunges the blade into his stomach.

The woman has already scrambled back into the foliage. Seth can’t see her, but he can _feel_  her. He reaches out with his mind, wraps both hands tightly around the warmth in her chest, and pulls until it detaches from her heart with a squelching sound. She’s dead before she hits the ground.

Seth leaves his sword in the man, because he knows it’ll make the death slower and he’s finding that this is one spectator sport he quite enjoys.

 

“Does it feel like I’m doing most of the heavy lifting in this partnership?” Seth asks later while he’s cleaning the blood off his sword.

“I thought you were doing the parts that you enjoy,” Ronodin answers.

 

By the end of the second year that Seth can remember, Wyrmroost is the only sanctuary still standing. Ronodin convinces the Underking to give them safe passage there through his realm. It requires a lot of swearing of fealty that Seth doesn’t believe for a second. He doesn’t like it.

“He knows you’re not loyal to him. Why does he make you do that?”

“Custom,” Ronodin says lightly. “A stronger king could enforce such oaths by magical means, but this one is mostly keeping up the charade.”

Seth clenches his hand. “You know that magic?”

Ronodin gives a look he knows well: don’t bore me with questions you know the answer to.

“Teach me,” Seth demands.

“When we get back,” Ronodin replies readily.

 

They wait for Celebrant to lure Kendra out of the Keep.

(“Talk about a weak king,” Ronodin muses. “Imagine professing to rule the most fearsome free creatures on Earth while you’re the only one who can’t get out of his cage.”)

Kendra reacts instantly when she meets Ronodin on the otherwise deserted path, drawing back an empty bowstring aimed straight at his heart. She might have been expecting him.

“Ronodin,” she declares, voice sure and firm, “you did not receive permission to enter this sanctuary. As caretaker, it is my duty to inform you that the protections of the treaty are void to you, and the lawful inhabitants of Wyrmroost may do to you as they will.”

And then she lets ten arrows fly.

Seth doesn’t wait to see if they hit before he steps out of the shadows and wraps an arm around her from behind. He presses the edge of a knife to her throat.

“Kendra, please,” he says, and lets his voice shake like he practiced. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t,” she snaps, but he can feel the tremor in her muscles when she recognizes his voice. “Seth—”

He shoves a handful of silence into her mouth, filling the spaces around her teeth and pressing her tongue down so it can slide into her throat.

“He wants the horn, Kendra,” he says. “He’ll kill me if I don’t get it. Please.”

She swallows hard enough to move the knife, and he lets her believe he’s holding it too loosely to really hurt her. She’s the warmest thing he’s ever touched, and he doesn’t know how much of that is her and how much is the horn. It’s exhilarating to have so much energy in his arms. She could easily burn his skin away if she’d ever been trained.

Across the path, Ronodin is on his back, two arrows sticking out of him at odd angles.

It should be an agonizing choice, but Kendra makes it quickly. She draws out the horn and carefully sets it into Seth’s free hand. She wraps her fingers around his gently, and there are all the words of regret and apology he won’t let her say out loud.

He presses his lips to the side of her neck and takes a moment to bask in the deep magic thrumming in her blood. He wants to taste it, but there isn’t time.

“Thank you,” he whispers against her skin, and then pulls the knife sharply and shoves her to the side. He lunges to Ronodin, pulling darkness and shadow around them both until they’re invisible in the twilight.

There’s blood coming out of Kendra’s neck, but the cut must be fairly shallow. She covers it with one hand, and watches the place where Seth disappeared for only a moment before pulling herself to her feet and fleeing down the path.

It might be the dim lighting, but Ronodin’s blood looks thick and black where it’s pooling around his wounds. Seth hands him the horn.

“Please tell me you can heal.”

“Not until we get the arrows out,” Ronodin says.

Seth rolls him onto his side. The arrow stuck in his right shoulder goes all the way through. Seth snaps the broadhead off, and eases the shaft out by the tail.

The second arrow is buried in his gut; judging by the visible length of the shaft, it’s most of the way through. He shifts Ronodin to his back again.

“You’re not going to like this next bit,” he says, gripping it tightly.

Ronodin grits his teeth. “I didn’t really like that last bit,” he says. “Just get it over with.”

Seth thrusts the arrow as hard as he can; it slices out Ronodin’s back and into the dirt beneath him.

Ronodin curls up instinctively, guarding the wound in his abdomen with his free hand, and Seth uses the momentum to roll him onto his side again. The arrow breaks and comes out as easily as the last.

Seth covers the stomach wound with his hand and concentrates on the sensation of blood pumping against his fingers as Ronodin stitches himself together with agonizing slowness. Seth’s skin feels numb with the cold by the time the skin knits back together.

“Fuck that girl,” Ronodin breathes when he’s finally whole again.

Seth runs a hand over Ronodin’s stomach and chest; there’s no sign of the injuries.

“Sorry she got away,” he says.

Ronodin musters the strength to roll his eyes. “That was always in the plan,” he reminds Seth. “But it’s comforting to know that she will get herself eaten by a dragon one of these days.”

 

Ronodin leaves to do something with the horn that he won’t let Seth know anything about; left in a castle with nothing but wraiths to keep him company, Seth ambles down to the dungeon.

Bracken is settled with his back against the wall facing the cell door; from this distance, he feels nearly as warm as Kendra had felt in Seth’s arms. Seth runs his fingers along the bars, letting the rough metal settle his mind.

“Hello, Seth,” Bracken says calmly. Nothing ever seems to phase him. Seth’s not sure how he does it; he could probably sit that still if he had nowhere else to go, but he’d be crawling up the walls within a week. Bracken’s held out more than two years.

It might be pitty that draws Seth down here to speak to him every few months. Today it’s mostly boredom.

Seth leans the side of his face against one of the bars.

“I saw Kendra this week,” he says.

Bracken tries not to react, but Seth feels the stir of air as he sucks in a surprised breath. Too quiet to be a gasp.

“Oh really?” Bracken says, almost conversationally. “How is she?”

“Warm. Bright. A lot like you.” Seth taps a finger against the bars as he considers. “Either naive or stupid. Not as strong as she could be. I can see why you’d like her.”

“She’s still alive, then?”

“Last I saw,” Seth shrugs.

Bracken looks entirely too relieved for someone whose circumstances haven’t changed in the slightest.

Seth bites the inside of his cheek. He pushes off the bars and paces to the other side of the cell door.

“She almost seemed happy to see me,” he says.

“You're her brother,” Bracken answers seriously. “You might not remember what that means, but she's never forgotten.”

Seth hadn't exactly felt brotherly towards her when he'd had her tucked all against his front side. He can't get the smell of her skin out of his mind.

“You can still trust her,” Bracken adds. “And me. We both want what's best for you.”

“You want what's best for humanity.”

Bracken raises his eyebrows. “You don't consider yourself part of that category anymore?”

Honestly, Seth tries not to think about it. He doesn't know enough about other humans to decide if he fits in with them. Technically he’s still mortal, but he’s not attached to staying that way if something better comes up.

“I have different priorities,” he dodges.

Bracken looks at him for a long time before answering. He'd once told Seth that they could communicate telepathically if Seth consented; he's probably wishing he could read Seth's mind right now.

“He'll bleed you dry,” he says eventually. “He'll use you up until you run out of power, and then he'll toss you aside. You know that.”

“Guess I'd better not run out of power,” Seth replies, stepping back from the cell again. “Speaking of which, Kendra gave me a gift when I saw her. Something you'd asked her to look after? It felt pretty powerful to me.”

Bracken’s face goes satisfyingly pale.

 

That night Seth dreams he's in the cell. Ronodin stands on the other side, but reaches his arms through the bars and slides his fingers into Seth's hair.

Seth steps as close to him as he can. “Let me out.”

Ronodin moves his hands to Seth’s neck, his shoulders, his chest. Petting him. Caressing. “You don’t need me,” he says. “You can get out by yourself.”

“I don't know how.”

Seth licks his lips. He tastes copper in the air. Someone's bleeding.

“Figure it out,” Ronodin says. He slides his hands to the small of Seth's back and pulls him impossibly closer to the barrier between them.

The blood is Seth’s; he can feel it dripping along his skin, but he can't look away from the man in front of him.

“I'm hurt,” he says, though he doesn’t feel it.

“Don't let it stop you,” Ronodin says.

If Seth can only get through the bars—get to him—everything will be fine. But how.

How.

“Figure it out,” Ronodin says again.

Seth wakes up half hard and drenched in sweat. He kicks the covers off the bed, rolls over and falls back asleep.

He dreams he’s holding Kendra again. There’s no knife, just his hand curled harshly around her throat. The line of her trachea fits neatly in his palm and she’s struggling to breathe as he reaches his other hand down between her legs.

He’s straddling Ronodin, and his blood has turned the ground beneath them to black mud. They might be sinking. Seth doesn’t care. He brushes his lips against Ronodin’s cheek, and when he pulls back the skin there is burnt away, singed angry and red. He bites a line down his neck and chest, all of it burned beautiful, and Ronodin begs for more.

He’s in his bed and it’s Bracken under him. Seth’s teeth sink into his skin easily, and he tears out flesh without even trying. His hands are clawed things, hooked into Bracken’s sides and drawing blood that smells too human. Bracken’s going to die here, in Seth’s bed, between Seth’s legs, and Seth is viciously, achingly happy with the knowledge.

 

Seth isn't much interested in the person he used to be. He knows it's not the person Ronodin told him it was when he first lost his memory; everything the Sphinx had let slip about their shared history had matched up too well to what Kendra had told him before Mendigo had stolen him away. Bracken had filled in a lot of the gaps over the years.

None of that is who he is now, though. He doesn’t feel it. Knowing, objectively, that he'd helped Bracken break out of captivity once doesn't make him feel particularly inclined to do so again. Saving the world from demons and dragons must have felt good once, but now he can't imagine why. He could pretend. He could run back to Kendra's welcoming arms and go through the motions of protecting a vague concept of humanity to which he's utterly disconnected.

But staying with Ronodin is genuinely attractive. It's easy to excuse the initial deceits in the face of how solid and comforting it is to have his entire life wrapped up in a single person who's devoted years to his care and keeping.

All Seth really wants from Ronodin is _more._

 

He doesn’t know if the idea initially comes from himself or from Ronodin, but it becomes clear that the culmination of Seth’s studies is going to be a challenge for the Underking’s crown. The list of magical knowledge Ronodin deems necessary for the task is long, and the training is arduous, but Seth never doubts the plausibility of the goal.

The Singing Sisters summon him again. He goes more willingly this time.

“We’ve never proposed a deal to an adventurer before,” one of them hisses, her back turned to him, “but it’s rare for the lines of the future to converge with such certainty around a single person’s fate.”

“Not to mention that most of our petitioners don’t acquire quite a taste for dark magics,” another says. “It’s been centuries since we’ve seen one who embraced such powers as well as you have, let alone one who could wield what we offer.”

Seth crosses his arms. “You know what I’m after?”

They cackle.

“We do,” the third says, “and your success will be a benefit to us.”

“Do not ask how,” the first says, cutting off the question before Seth can open his mouth. “Know that we support your quest and we would aid it on the condition that you make your attempt before the equinox.”

There are wards in place around the Underking’s stronghold with vulnerabilities to humans and especially to humans under the age of majority. Seth turns eighteen in three month’s time. The deadline they set is not much sooner.

“What aid do you offer?”

“Vasilis,” they answer in unison.

“It has slaughtered monarchs of greater power before,” one says. Seth knows this; he’s read about the sword in several histories.

“It will recall your touch, and magnify your strength beyond your imagination,” says another.

He considers. There are a handful of weapons he and Ronodin have deemed up to the task, but this sword is easily among the most powerful. He doesn’t remember wielding it before, but he’s heard enough stories of the Battle of Zzyzx to know that the legendary blade would serve him well.

“It will be mine to keep as long as I reign?” he clarifies.

They agree.

 

In the end, it’s nearly easy. Subterfuge gets him into the Underking’s realm, and stealth gets him into his hold. He’s ten feet away before he even draws his blade; the guards instinctually shrink back rather than stand by their allegiance. The undead tend to be cowards like that. They'll be useless subjects unless Seth keeps firm control of them.

Perhaps the king could command them to come to his aid now, but Seth can more strongly will them to stand aside. He doesn’t need their help. He has a sword that makes his blood sing, a courage burning him up from the inside, and a self-assurance born of the Sisters’ prophecy.

Of course, injury and dismemberment alone won’t defeat the undead. Seth’s quick swordwork distracts his opponent, and the spilling of his viscera absorbs enough of his attention that Seth can press inside his being with his magic. At the center he find neither cold nor warmth, but a solid core of pulsing power that he yanks from his ribcage.

A crown of bone appears in Seth’s left hand, slick with ichor.

What’s left of the king’s flesh melts away. His bones crumble to dust.

Seth sheathes Vasilis and leaves the hall without a word. This is only half the victory.

 

He takes the crown to Ronodin. It’s still dripping gold.

“It’s yours,” he says, “if you want it.”

Seth finds he has to focus his will power to pry each of his fingers off the crown. Ronodin takes it lightly and examines it like it’s nothing more than an interesting artifact. He turns it this way and that and lets the torchlight catch the harsh designs carved across the front.

“You earned this,” Ronodin says eventually. He carefully sets the crown on Seth’s head, like it’s his to bestow.

The weight of it rests for only a moment before it dissolves back into pure energy, melting into Seth’s skin and coming to rest with a glow beneath his sternum. His perceptions shift in an instant. He can feel the movements of wraiths still standing guard at his palace, the cold wind blowing across his empty throne, the flow of the river guarding the primary entrance to his realm. He can feel his humanness flicker and fade and then cut out altogether, like whatever batteries were powering his mortality have finally given up the ghost. He can feel strong, ancient magic filling up the hollows of his bones.

He can feel Ronodin’s light touch on his jaw, sticky with his predecessor’s blood.

Seth blinks and all the torches in the room burn out.

“Tell me I did well,” he says.

“You did,” Ronodin answers without hesitation.

“You’re proud of me,” Seth presses.

“I am.”

“And you’ll be with me.”

“As long as you need.”

For the first time, he can reach into the coldness of Ronodin’s aura and feel something vulnerable at the center. There’s a heartbeat there he’s never heard before.

“I don’t need you,” Seth says.

“As long as you want, then,” he corrects.

Seth kisses him hard. He curls his hands under Ronodin’s shirt and siphons his energy until the cold is so intense his hands feel like they’re burning. He takes the same through his lips, pressing his tongue into Ronodin’s mouth and swallowing down the ice even as his throat goes numb.

It might have killed him to do this while he was still mortal, but now it just aggravates his desire. Everything he’s wanted for as long as he can remember is compounding with urgency. He always thought that when this happened it would be another thievery, a stealing away of everything he could get his hands on, but Ronodin gives without second thought. He goes where Seth pulls him without hesitation.

“Fuck me,” Seth says when he’s backed himself up against a wall. “Use me. Please.”

Ronodin puts a hand on one of his shoulders and pushes until his back presses painfully against the rough stonework. There’s too much space between them. Ronodin’s gaze darts around Seth’s face. Scrutinizing.

Seth waits because Ronodin wants him to.

“Will that finally satisfy you?” Ronodin asks evenly.

Seth raises his chin.

Only one way to find out.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm DetectiveJoan and you can find me on [tumblr](http://detectivejoan.tumblr.com/)


End file.
